


Call Me Master

by ModernWizard



Series: The Happy Famverse [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Call me master, Consensual Kink, Etymology, F/M, Fluff, Foreplay, He's in love with his own stupid name, Humor, Just a lot of goofing around, Kinky Doctor, Kinky Master, No actual sex, Nothing explicit, Roleplay, Silly, Wordplay, You can call me MASSSSSSSTER, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernWizard/pseuds/ModernWizard
Summary: The Doctor and the Master are on the verge of some kinky roleplaying fun, but the Master goes off -- wayyyyy off -- on a tangent. The Doctor seeks help from the Master's TARDIS Nychthemeron in, uh, reining in the Master's enthusiasm.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: The Happy Famverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694899
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Call Me Master

_ [INT. THE MASTER’S TARDIS. Actually THE MASTER’S bedroom/study/library. As in the living room, the same stacks of books and magazines fill much of the floor, though with wider aisles between them. The same pleasantly musty smell of a used bookstore hangs in the air. An open closet displays a wardrobe split about equally between modern stuff, heavy on the tartan, and late Regency/early Victorian dresses and suits, heavy on the purple. Near a crammed bookcase sits a low-slung overstuffed leather chair with various tools balanced on the broad arms: magnifying glass, headlamp, something that looks like both a calculator and a typewriter. A pair of butterfly wings — or solar cells? — lie on a small tray beneath the green-shaded lamp.]  _

_ [As for THE DOCTOR and THE MASTER, they recline side by side on a big brass four-poster bed. The various hinges, gears, and levers on it suggest a great number of positions in which it could be arranged. The various pulleys, chains, straps, and articulated arms above it suggest a great number of positions in which one could be restrained on aforesaid bed. None of these accoutrements are in use, however. THE DOCTOR and THE MASTER are just chillin’.] _

THE MASTER: Whose turn is it to start, love?

THE DOCTOR: I dunno.

THE MASTER: What do you mean — you dunno?

THE DOCTOR: Why are you asking  _ me? _ You’re the detail-obsessed control freak. Why don’t  _ you _ remember whose turn it is?

THE MASTER: Well, because, sometimes, I get kind of...distracted…

THE DOCTOR: ‘Kind of.’  _ [Snorts.]  _ ‘Distracted!’ Is that what we’re calling it now?

THE MASTER: Yes, that is completely, totally, 100% what we are calling it now. Because I said so.  _ [Folds arms, nods firmly.] _

THE DOCTOR: Which is, of course, the best reason for anything. Well, I don’t know whose turn it is, but I know that we’re tied.

THE MASTER: We are? Ah hah!  _ [Whips toward her, does finger guns.] _ We are  _ not. _ Gotcha! I’m not that distracted. I’d notice if I was tied. Hah!

THE DOCTOR: Except that time you didn’t — in the laundry room. Ahhh, but you gotta admit that was fun — watching your face as you slowly woke up and realized you couldn’t move! _[Quoting THE MASTER, she spreads her arms out and tugs at invisible bonds.]_ ‘Mmmph. Nnnnf. Why can’t I — ? _[Bends neck back, crying out with perfect melodramatic intonation.]_ _DOCTAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!’_ Heh heh heh. But I don’t understand why you were taking a nap on top of the dryer. You have a bed, right?

THE MASTER: Yeah, but it’s not nice and hot and going  _ whmmmm whmmmm whmmmm. [Rotates hands rhythmically like wheels.] _

THE DOCTOR: Oh wow, you  _ are _ a cat, aren’t you? Ah hah, little bit of that Cheetah Planet virus coming out, huh? Nice kitty.  _ [Smooths his hair out of his eyes. It flops right back into its old position.] _

THE MASTER  _ [hissing]: _ HHHHHHHhhhhHHHHHHHhhhhhhh!  _ [Jumps on THE DOCTOR. Silly feral bastard fighting ensues.] _

THE DOCTOR  _ [flopping dramatically on her back]: _ Stop! Stop! If we fight like animals, then we’ll die like animals!  _ [Cracks up laughing.] _ Actually, when I said we were tied, I didn’t mean with restraints. I meant for points. We’re tied for points.

THE MASTER  _ [flopping forcefully next to her]:  _ Points? What is it with you and points? Relationships aren’t about points.  _ [Pinning THE DOCTOR.] _ They’re about power transactions! Muah hah hah!  _ [Wiggling eyebrows. Beat.]  _ Oooooooooh! I think I remember.  _ [Snaps fingers.]  _ Yes! I do remember. It’s  _ my  _ turn. Muah hah hah! Wait. I already said that.

THE DOCTOR: I don’t think it is. I think you’re wrong, bluffing, and/or lying. Usually it’s a mixture of both. I mean all three. Like 50% bluffing, 25% lying, and 25% — 

THE MASTER  _ [sitting up suddenly, pointing at the floor]: _ Kneel! Kneel and call me Master.

THE DOCTOR: Ah? Oh! Yeah! Sure! I like this one. This is a fun one!  _ [Hops off bed. Kneels.] _

THE MASTER: Master. Masssssster.  _ [Smiles, looking dreamily off, mouth in a huge grin.] _ I just love that word — and not just because it’s my own name. I just happened to pick the best word ever for a name! Anyway, it just sounds so perfect. Delicious, mellifluous, scintillating, full of power and promise and potential. You know — like me. It’s just perfect! Perfect in every way! Also just like me. I mean — even the origin is perfect. It’s from the Old English  _ mæg(i)ster,  _ which is like ‘master,’ ‘teacher,’ ‘leader,’ ‘ruler,’ ‘expert,’ that sort of thing. 

_ [THE DOCTOR starts off listening very attentively and politely to THE MASTER. Sitting back on her haunches with her hands folded in her lap, she cocks her head, focusing on him with furrowed brows of great concentration.] _

THE DOCTOR: Hey! M— 

THE MASTER  _ [oblivious] _ : —The Latin  _ magister, _ which is, as everyone knows, the same source of other such wonderfully  _ masssssterful _ words as ‘majesty,’ ‘magisterial,’ and ‘magician.’ ‘Magician?’ What? No! What am I talking about?  _ [Smacks forehead.] _ I  _ wish _ ‘magician’ came from  _ magister. _ That would just give my name even more magical and magisterial connotations. But it doesn’t. ‘Magician’ doesn’t come from  _ magister.  _ ‘Magician’ is from  _ magus,  _ a member of a priestly caste from — 

_ [THE DOCTOR falls back to her knees with a sigh and an eyeball roll.] _

THE DOCTOR: Oi! You! Ma— 

THE MASTER  _ [bouncing, voice rising as he gets even more into it] _ : — Just love, lovelovelove, the idea that  _ magister _ ultimately comes from  _ magis, _ which is basically Latin for ‘more.’ Isn’t that brilliant? I think it’s brilliant! Because it is! It’s brilliant! And perfect. Masterful, majestic, magisterial, and… _ [rapturous sigh] _ more! Much, much more! So much more!

THE DOCTOR: Hellooooooooooo? Mas— 

THE MASTER: Because that’s what I am: so much more magical, so much more masterful, so much more  _ more, _ so much more  _ me _ than anyone else in the universe!  _ [Flapping his hands like butterflies, he dances. Syllable by syllable, he progressively ascends to a higher plane of etymological ecstasy.]  _

_[THE DOCTOR_ _gives up. Flopping against the bed, she lies prostrate for a few minutes. After a pause, she rights herself. THE MASTER, having hit word nerd nirvana (word nerd-vana?), has quieted down. He now paces back and forth, cocking his head from side to side, debating word origins with himselves. His eyes shine; his eyebrows write curlicues; his whole body quivers and dances with the passion of his obsession.]_

_ [As she watches THE MASTER, THE DOCTOR’S expression changes from one of eye-rolling exasperation to something more intent. Hopping easily from a kneel to a squat, she stands, then leans on the bed, tracking him as he does laps at the foot of the bed. Her eyebrows rise, loosening at the inner corners. Her lips part, first in wonder, then in a soft, affectionate smile, and finally in a smirk, almost as if she too is as excited as he is. And perhaps she is because she knows what this feels like, this swooping rush of information and enthusiasm that sweeps you away, polishing the world so that every detail glimmers and shines, filling your body with thrills so strong that you just have to dance them out. She knows how happy he is, and she is happy too.] _

_ [THE DOCTOR loves to watch THE MASTER, but her attention, like his, seeks novelty. In other words, she soon becomes bored. Knowing that THE MASTER won’t surface for a while, THE DOCTOR does her best to entertain herself. She plays ring toss with the circular implements, trying to hook them over the bed post. She lines up all the tubular devices along the floor from shortest to tallest. She balances other appliances in a tower and then tries to pull one out from the middle without the tower collapsing.] _

_ [But even that isn’t enough, so THE DOCTOR eventually wanders out of the bedroom, through the kitchen, and into the doorway of the living room. Here she halts, for the stacks of books and magazines on the floor leave very narrow aisles to navigate. Glancing into the living room, THE DOCTOR sees NYCHTHEMERON using her laptop on the sofa as usual, talking to a fellow STEAMPUNKER by video chat.] _

NYCHTHEMERON: You know, though — for an insufferable loud-mouth twit, he occasionally says an interesting thing or two. He’s all about postcolonialism these days, and he works it into whatever he’s talking about. We were talking — yeah, imagine that; we were having an actual conversation! — about steampunk tending to be so white and British and — 

STEAMPUNKER: All about the rich people, yeah. I hate that. It’s so boring. And so limited too. It leaves the majority of people out!

NYCHTHEMERON: Right right right! Exactly. Like he was saying, ‘You have to ask yourself who the master is and who they’re trying to master. For example, are all those rich white British people invading India? If they are, how do the Indians feel about that? I guarantee at least some of them are going to invent clockwork elephants and grind their colonialist “masters” into dust.’

STEAMPUNKER: Ooooh, robotic battle elephants! I like it! You know — I was actually looking into that — like India during the very early Raj — because of my grandparents, and I found some really cool stuff.

NYCHTHEMERON: Yeah? Like what?

_ [Weaving through stacks of ephemera, THE DOCTOR pops up by NYCHTHEMERON’S couch.] _

THE DOCTOR  _ [in teasing singsong]: _ Awwwwww, you  _ do _ like your Master!

NYCHTHEMERON: No, I just said that occasionally he  _ doesn’t _ sound like an utter dunce. There’s a difference. Speaking of which...where is the twit?

THE DOCTOR  _ [with a sigh]: _ In the bedroom. We were on the verge of playing a game, but then — 

NYCHTHEMERON: Let me guess. He had an etymology attack.

THE DOCTOR: Yup. And it’s adorable to watch, really, because he’s so damn excited, but...well… I did want to play.

NYCHTHEMERON: You know what I do if he’s like that and I need to get his attention?  _ [She motions for THE DOCTOR to come down. THE DOCTOR bends over the back of the couch, and NYCHTHEMERON whispers something in her ear.] _

THE DOCTOR  _ [leaping up]: _ Oh! Brilliant! You’re a genius — you are!  _ [From off screen.]  _ Thanks, Nicky!

NYCHTHEMERON:  _ What _ did you just call me?

THE DOCTOR  _ [poking head back in]: _ Uh, Nychthemeron.  _ [Big conciliating smile.] _ Thanks, Nychthemeron.

NYCHTHEMERON  _ [big sarcastic grin]: _ You’re welcome, Theta.  _ [THE DOCTOR exits. NYCHTHEMERON squinches her eyes shut and shakes her head. Mutters under breath.] _ Time Dorks!! Next time she does that, I’m launching her through the roof.

_ [Back in the bedroom, THE MASTER has subsided. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he holds a dictionary in his lap. His lips move as he scans the columns of text. He appears to be reading it, entry by entry, page by page. Tiptoeing up behind him, THE DOCTOR empties a glass of water down the back of THE MASTER’S shirt.] _

THE MASTER  _ [jumping and screeching simultaneously]: _ ACK!!! What was that for?!

THE DOCTOR: Ah, so you  _ do _ have a pause button, I see. Still no volume control, though.

THE MASTER: You just — you just ruined my shirt! Doctor!! Why’d you ruin my shirt?

THE DOCTOR: Oh, keep your pants on. It’s just water.

THE MASTER: This shirt is dry clean only! It literally does that Wicked Witch of the West thing if you get it wet? It melts! See? See? This is all your fault!  _ [Adopts crackly voice, quoting  _ The Wizard of Oz _ movie.]  _ ‘Ohhhh, you cursed brat! Look what you’ve done! I’m melting — melting!  _ [Claws at face, moans, hisses, crumples onto bed.]  _ Who would have ever thought that a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness! Arrrrrrrrgh…’  _ [His shirt dissolves. He, however, does not.] _

THE DOCTOR  _ [with deadpan sarcasm]: _ Oops.

THE MASTER  _ [boinging up into sitting position with beautiful wickedness fully intact, albeit shirtless]: _ No but seriously — what was that all about? I didn’t give you permission to get up, much less fuck off and dump ice water on me.  _ [Narrows eyes and smirks.] _ Are you a glutton for punishment today or something? Because I can work with that!  _ [Springs toward THE DOCTOR.] _

THE DOCTOR  _ [fending him off in between fits of wild giggling]: _ It was because — because — because —  _ [Laughs, snorts, eventually regains composure.] _ How am I supposed to call you Master  _ if you don’t let me get a word in edgewise?! _

_ [THE MASTER points at THE DOCTOR, eyebrows down, mouth open, about to yell something. Then he realizes what she just said. He shuts his mouth for a moment.] _

THE MASTER: Ah. Yes. Well. Um.  _ [Turning red, he looks away. His gaze skitters across the floor, ceiling, walls, duvet.]  _ Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.  _ [Bobbing head.]  _ But...um...you can do it now!  _ [Finally returning his attention to THE DOCTOR, he flips his hair out of his eyes, his eyes big and expectant.] _ Wait.  _ [Realizes that THE DOCTOR is no longer on the bed.] _ Oh for fuck’s sake! Now what?!

THE DOCTOR  _ [digging through a bin labeled TOY BOX]: _ Yeah, but...see, Master...now I don’t  _ trust _ you to keep your mouth shut.  _ [Devious pointy smirk over her shoulder.]  _ Clearly you’re way too out of practice, but I’m pretty sure there’s a device in here that will be very useful for helping you to put a cork in it. Ah!  _ [She grabs a hold of something.]  _ Here it is!


End file.
